


The Distortion I Know

by TheSinIsStrongWithThisOne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding!Gerry, Distortion!Michael, Established Relationship, Gerard Keay Lives, Hunt!Tim, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, M/M, Set in Season 1, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Gerard Keay, Trans Jonah Magnus (mentioned), Trans Michael Shelley, general spiral fuckery, this was only meant to be 3 chapters, welcome to: gerry bullies elias
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24769060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSinIsStrongWithThisOne/pseuds/TheSinIsStrongWithThisOne
Summary: Michael loves Gerry as much as he knows how to after becoming the Distortion. Gerry is getting fed up with Elias' insistence that he take a job at the institute. Martin and Sasha are trying to find Tim and Jon is just trying to get through the day.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Sasha James/Tim Stoker (mentioned)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 144





	1. Prologue

If Michael was ever to remember the boat ride to Sannikov land, he would describe it as a foggy affair. The mist over the water hung low and thick, so much so that it seemed to him it should be a great difficulty for their captain to navigate through it.

The captain, however, seemed to thrive on the anonymity it afforded their ship. He would stand on deck, breathing in great mouthfuls of the fog, exhaling the cold air through his nose so that only his pale blue eyes could be seen through the mist. _‘Like a cat’s eyes reflecting in the dark’_ , Michael had mused to himself.

Michael had been standing at the edge of the railing on the lower deck when Gertrude approached him. He might have remembered her to be solemn or grim in hindsight, but that was not a luxury he would be allowed for much longer. She didn’t speak. That was the oddest thing, the woman who was never at a loss for words didn’t say anything as the island drifted into sight and the smaller rowboat was lowered into the water.

Gertrude sat on the same side as Michael, as his frame was too slight to balance the boat properly. The captain joined them, rowing in long even strokes until they reached the shore. He waited there.

And he waited.

Gertrude and Michael walked for what seemed like hours but when they checked their watches it appeared to have been only minutes. What was more concerning was that, though they had started on a due east course, their compasses now said that they were heading west. _‘This island can’t be_ that _big,_ ’ thought Michael, ‘ _We must be at the centre, or even passed it by now_ ’.

That was when he heard it. Something whispering his name. He turned to Gertrude and asked if she could hear it too. She nodded slowly, but if Michael had known her better, he would’ve known that she was lying. The whispering was for him, and him alone. Gertrude urged him to follow it, to lead the way. Michael began heading in a new direction, following this distorted sound.

The further they walked, the louder the voice became and the pitch of it travelled higher. It was piercing Michael’s ears and bringing him to the verge of tears with the sickness he felt before all at once it stopped.

And then there was a door.

If he could’ve still heard her, he would’ve heard Gertrude tell him to open the door. He already knew what he was supposed to do. Gertrude was an old woman; he couldn’t let her enter whatever hellish dimension he was about to unleash upon himself. As he turned the handle and let the door swing outward, gravity shifted. The door folded itself over him, swallowing him until he was face down against a carpeted floor.

Colours flashed before his eyes, blinding him and drawing him further in. He heard laughter that wasn’t laughter before realising that _he_ was the one laughing. This was all that he would remember after the fact: feeling another creature’s mortal fear before that creature dove inside him. It entered through his throat; that was the strangest thing. Some perverted tracheotomy filling him with a being that _was not him_.

Until it was.

That was when the explosion came.

Heat surged from all sides, the walls of the hallway cracked and splintered, and Michael could feel his own bones do the same. He was inside a metal can and it was being crushed by someone’s contemptuous fist. He tried to crawl toward the exit, where had he come in? Had he come in or had he always been here?

Colours were bleeding out of his eyes, his ears, his mouth, but they were not trying to escape him. They were covering him like liquid gold solidifying over his vulnerable form, protecting him. The pressure on his skull became too much and he let the colours take him to sweet unconsciousness.

He came to in the rowboat, this he remembered. His hand drooped over the side of the boat, fingers tracing the waves beneath (how was his arm long enough to reach them?). The old lady was there too, but there was only one colour bleeding from her mouth.

~

“Bouchard!” the voice came, clear as a bell through the institute’s echoing foyer. Elias turned from his conversation with Rosie to see Gerard Keay walking – not quite marching or running, trying to maintain at least a façade of composure – quickly toward him.

“Mr Keay, I wasn’t expecting you. Gertrude isn’t here right now,” He replied.

“Cut the bullshit, Bouchard. I _know_ that the Tundra is back in its dock.”

“Ah,”

“ _Where is he?_ ”

“Gerard, might I ask that we have this conversation in my offi-” Elias was cut off by Gerard reaching forward to grab at his collar. He lifted Elias with ease and turned to slam him against the wall, several inches off of the ground. Rosie let out a small shriek and picked up her desk phone to call for help.

“ _Where is Michael?_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 months later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it’s not clear, Gertrude died in the explosion at Sannikov Land, so Jon became the Archivist a bit earlier than canon. 
> 
> This is set in season 1 because if you stretch the timeline discrepancies enough, the latest Michael could’ve died was 2015, a few months before Gertrude (at least based on what I’ve read of the timeline on the wiki) wouldve. So yeah, this is like November 2015ish? 
> 
> Michael was still recovering when Jon became head archivist and brought the trio with him to the archives, but he showed up for work after a few months which meant Elias had so explain a few things earlier than in canon. I’m trying to stick to the timeline at least a bit but also some things have had to be changed to fit. Also yeah Gerry didn’t die in 2014, he’s fine.

**_6 months later_ **

~

“Mnf,” Gerry huffed as he rolled onto his side. It wasn’t that the bed wasn’t comfortable, it was just that he was morally opposed to waking up earlier than 9am and the clock ticking next to him on his bedside table said it was only 8.12am.

He kept his eyes tight shut as he debated whether or not to say anything. Michael didn’t exactly _sleep_ anymore. He more just lay there watching Gerry or holding him. He decided to stay in bed and see if he could convince Michael to hold him for another hour or so.

He rolled over to lay an arm over Michael’s chest but instead felt his hand make contact with empty mattress space beside him. Gerry’s eyes shot open, his mind filling with panic. He looked around his room for any doors that didn’t belong there but for once in his life, everything was as it should’ve been.

“Michael?!” he called out, throwing off his bedsheets and scrambling out of bed. He ran into the hallway and down to the kitchen, the wooden floorboards squeaking under his clammy feet becoming cold tiles.

“Gerry?” a soft voice of concern replied. Gerry turned the corner into the dining room and saw Michael standing nearly 7 feet tall over the table, laid with food. Gerry flung himself into Michael’s arms and let himself be held. He said something about thinking Michael was gone but his sobs were muffled in the taller person’s soft striped jumper.

“You made breakfast?” Gerry eventually asked, pulling away.

“Yes, I think so.” Michael replied.

“Are you heading into work today?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, Gerry.”

“You could always quit,” he said as they sat down to eat.

Michael laughed; a disjointed sound that seemed to be amplified so it sounded louder than it really was. Gerry’s ears rang but he didn’t mind. He crooked his head questioningly. Michael looked almost sheepish.

“You’ll never take a _real_ job there, will you, Gerry?” he asked.

“Why would I?” Gerry scoffed, “I’m not in this fight for the money, and I certainly wasn’t in it for the old lady. She may have been the one to bring me to the institute, but _you_ were the reason I stayed.” He remembered the first time he saw Michael, a 20-something who was nothing more than skin and bones in an oversized orange jumper.

The first time he spoke to Michael was what really sold him on sticking around. Honestly, he just thought it was funny that somebody could work at the institute and not even suspect what was really happening, much less someone who worked directly with Gertrude. He just looked at you with that soft smile, wide but soft. The Distortion had taken a lot from Michael, but it hadn’t taken his smile.

“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” Michael wasn’t really _pleased_ , it wasn’t exactly something he could be, but he wanted to be pleased. That was enough.

“Which part? That I won’t take the job, or that I’m sticking around for you?”

“Both,”

“Cute. Look, I can give you a lift in today, but Elias will probably throw another contract at me. Promise you won’t yell at him? Can’t afford for you to get fired before I find a job of my own.”

Michael said nothing.

“Michael?” Gerry tried again.

“You know of me that, being made of lies, nothing is hidden from me?”

Gerry found himself flashing back to any potential lies he had hidden from Michael or indeed from anyone that might have made Michael upset with him. He felt like he was walking through a TSA.

“Yes?” he found himself replying, swallowing.

“There is something with the institute. I don’t think I can tell you the truth, but maybe it’s alright since the archive is the one lying,” Michael began, “Elias has already told the others; Jon, Tim, Sasha, and Martin, I mean. He didn’t have much of a choice after I came back like this. Along with everything you already knew or had figured out about the powers and the institute being a temple to the Eye, well, if you sign on to work in the archives you can’t quit.”

Gerry stewed with this information, realising what it meant for Michael now that he was – as far as they could tell – immortal.

“But Tim, he left?” Gerry questioned.

“He’s tried to,” Michael explained, “This all understandably enraged him, and I think he wanted to prove Elias wrong somehow. He’s probably dead by now, or at least very ill. If he is alive, I expect he’ll return soon.”

“But Jon, Martin, and Sasha?”

“They’re all still there, trapped like me. Though Jon is not very much like me”

“Are you gonna tell him about the archivist stuff, or did Elias?”

“Elias told him little, he wants him to learn on his own.”

“What do _you_ want?”

“I admit, his confusion does make for a good meal without me having to actively harm anyone. I have left him in ignorance.”

Gerry made a noise which equated to ‘fair enough’. They finished their breakfasts and helped each other get dressed before leaving the flat and heading towards the institute.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive in was mostly without incident. As usual, there were a few moments of dissent when a passer-by might see Michael through the window, but it was nothing that they weren’t used to. Though Michael could have easily travelled via his corridor, he preferred this, feeling human.

He liked how Gerry looked, sitting at the wheel, driving him into work. It seemed so normal, so fleeting. But he revelled in it, knowing that once they got out of the car it would be over. Michael smiled his soft smile and simply basked like a contented cat.

Gerry pulled into the parking space labelled “E. Bouchard” smirking to himself. Michael pulled a face at him to which Gerry put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey! If he doesn’t show up to his own institute by 9, it’s his own fault.” He defended himself. Michael relented and they exited the car together.

They walked up the polished steps and through the door together and greeted Rosie on the way. Gerry leaned over the desk to ask if there had been any memos for Michael to which Rosie shook her head, peering nervously at them both.

“All I’m saying is that we should at least go looking for him! If not call the police,” a voice called.

“Ms James, it has been more than a month, if we could find Mr Stoker before now then we would have done,” another replied.

Gerry and Michael exchanged looks before entering the archives proper to see Sasha and Elias engaged in intense ‘discussion’. Martin was sat at his desk, desperately trying to appear as though he was unaware of the row mere feet from him. Jon was not to be seen but was likely in his office either avoiding the fight or so caught up in a statement that he did not hear.

“Decided to get an early start ripping out people’s hopes and dreams, Bouchard?” Gerry snapped. He walked forward, but Michael reached his long arm to hold him back.

“Mr Keay, as you are not an employee of my establishment I don’t think you are entitled to have a say on the matter,” Elias replied, his voice frustratingly steady. He turned to Michael, ignoring Sasha. “Mr Shelley, I want you to help Mr Blackwood today. Jon will be too busy to see anyone, and it seems that Ms James will be too distracted to help,” He glanced at her, an eyebrow crooked.

“Oh, well excuse me for actually caring about a fellow human being!” she cried.

“Ms James-”

“What? What are you going to do? Fire me? Send me home? Fuck off, Elias. I may still have to be here but that won’t stop me from using everything we have here to try and find Tim.”

Sasha turned and left, heading to the research department. Elias grabbed the bottom hem of his suit jacket and pulled to straighten it roughly. He briefly glanced towards Jon’s office, looking, listening for something, before nodding at Gerry and Michael and heading back upstairs. Gerry rolled his eyes and pulled Michael over to Martin’s desk.

“When his car wasn’t in I hoped he might have taken the day off,” Gerry said to Martin.

“Yeah, he got dropped off by someone this morning,” Martin replied.

“Intrigue?” Michael crooked an eyebrow, or maybe just an eye. The three chuckled, Martin a little more awkward than the other two. As Martin brought Michael up to speed on what he was working on, Gerry wondered the room. He kept finding his eyes drawn to Jon’s office and thought that the man could probably do with some company, even if he would never let himself think it.

The door wasn’t locked, but Gerry still paused outside of it. He knocked softly, then harder when there was no response. There was still nothing. He opened the door anyway to see Jon planted at his desk, his cane leaning precariously against the table, a tape recorder beside him running softly, and a statement in his hands. He spoke intensely, enunciating every syllable, not noticing Gerry’s entrance.

“Jon?” Gerry ventured.

He continued reading.

“Well, alright then.”

Gerry sat in the chair on the opposite side of Jon’s desk and waited for him to finish, feeling the power of the statement reverberate out from Jon. When Jon had finished, he sighed. He lifted a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked a little surprised to see Gerry waiting for him, but not enough to react much.

“Did Elias send you in?” Jon asked.

“Nope,” Gerry replied. “He actually told us to leave you alone.”

Jon huffed a laugh and pulled his glasses off to clean them.

“Any particular reason why you chose to defy him?”

“Not sure, really. Guess I just wanted to know how you ran things, differently to Gertrude, I mean.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know exactly how she ran things. Besides, you should know how dangerous it is to want to _know_ things.” Jon looked up from behind his glasses and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, you know that’s not what I meant.” He flopped his hand in a show of discouragement. “I just,” he thought for a moment, “Michael doesn’t remember that much about before, and because of how he is now, he finds it difficult to tell the truth or express it. I guess, I’ve sort of taken that role on for him.”

Jon nodded, “He knows all that is false, so you feel the need to balance things for him?”

“For myself too I think. Mum and Gertrude loved to hide things from me so it’s a bit tough to have a boyfriend who can’t help doing the same.” Gerry came back to himself for a second. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m baring my soul to you.” He chuckled.

“Well-”

“Okay, _yes,_ I know why but _still_.”

There was a knock at the door before Rosie swung it open just enough so that her face was peeking through the gap.

“Sorry to interrupt you two but Mr Bouchard wanted a word,” she winced at the end of the sentence, drawing her mouth out in a sympathetic smile. Jon sighed again.

“Show him in,” he rolled his chair back and beckoned at her, clutching his cane in preparation to stand.

“Oh, sorry Mr Sims, I should’ve been clearer,” she opened the door a little further, “I meant he wanted a word with Mr Keay.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gerry pointed at himself questioningly to confirm with Rosie that she really meant it was _him_ that Elias wanted to see. She nodded with her eyebrows raised. Gerry turned to Jon as he left, rolling his eyes. The last he saw of Jon before the door closed behind him was him mouthing ‘good luck’ and returning to his papers. Gerry shrugged; he didn’t need luck.

He waved to Michael, who was still standing over with Martin going over a statement. Michael looked up to him and crooked his head in acknowledgement without moving his neck at all. Gerry blew a kiss and smiled to him, to which Michael lowered his eyes (and his nose) and blushed sweetly. He turned back to his work with Martin who looked a little more disconcerted than before. It looked like they were going to have a long day.

Though he was in his early twenties, Gerry couldn’t help but feel that Rosie was like a teacher leading him past his classmates to see the principle. Apart from his earlier snark at Elias, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong, so this was likely going to be another lecture about the importance of ‘family ties to the institute’ and ‘the role we all have to play in life’. He didn’t want a job at the institute _before_ he knew that he’d never be able to quit so he wasn’t exactly sure what Elias thought he was accomplishing by continuing his almost daily harangues.

Regardless, he followed Rosie up the stairs and around the corner to Elias’ office. The nameplate shone on the door, but you could _just_ see the old markings of where the previous head of the institute’s name had once been behind it; the new plaque was a streamlined face put on an old role. Rosie gave a few polite raps on the door before opening it.

“Mr Bouchard? Mr Keay is here to see you,” she said, sweetly. Without any audible cue from Elias, Rosie stood back and gestured for Gerry to enter. He nodded at her and walked through the door which she closed behind him. He made his stance next to the entrance, hoping this would be quick and he could leave even quicker.

Elias was sat at his desk on the opposite side of the room. Behind him was a large portrait of a tall, imposing man. He wore a dark green jacket and stood with one hand behind his back. The other hand was resting on a golden walking staff embossed with stylised eyes and topped with a large green sphere of glass. The glass was painted with the same colour as his piercing eyes which sat under a head of sleekly combed back brown hair.

Elias looked up from his work expectantly, only to see Gerry staring at the painting. He smiled.

“Ah, I see you are admiring our recently uncovered acquisition?” he said.

“Jonah Magnus, I’m guessing?” Gerry asked, not shifting his gaze.

“Yes,” Elias nodded, turning back to look at it, “we found this portrait in an old storage locker belonging to the descendants of Dr Jonathan Fanshawe, a close friend of our founder.”

Gerry scoffed.

“Something amusing, Mr Keay?”

“I’ve read the statements,” said Gerry, “Fanshawe thought Magnus was crazy and refused to associate with him in the end.” Elias’ expression tightened but Gerry didn’t notice. “That was mum’s justification when she tried to leave. Said that was how all of the ‘friends of Magnus’ would leave it.”

“Your mother was a valued member of our staff, if a little misguided.” Gerry looked down from the portrait to Elias. “The portrait isn’t entirely accurate;” Elias brought the subject back to where he could control it, meeting Gerry’s gaze. “In reality, Jonah Magnus was barely 5 foot 7 and was much more feminine in appearance. He never let people he didn’t trust see more of him than the portraits like this one. Most assumed he was simply a cagey academic, but those who were close to him – including Dr Fanshawe – knew that it was because he was born a woman.”

Gerry winced at the old fashion expression but didn’t bother to try and correct Elias, instead deciding to move on and admire Magnus for managing to create such a successful institute despite being trans in the 19th century. The admiration didn’t last long.

“I know that people like to make jokes about my age and how I ‘don’t keep up with modern times’ but I certainly hope that this,” Elias gestured at the painting, “will help quell any fears you might have had about how _you_ would be treated if you were to take a job here.”

Ah, there it was. Gerry rolled his eyes, he knew that the institute had been fine with Michael after he came out, but to hear Elias talk about _himself_ like this was… well, it seemed like lamp-shading at the best.

“Gerard, your family has a great history with this institute. Not even just with your parents but the Von Closen line has been closely involved since the beginning. I would hate for you to break such a tradition out of,” He looked Gerry up and down, “youthful indignation.”

“You mean you think I’m being a prat; that I couldn’t _possibly_ have a decent reason to refuse.” Gerry scoffed.

“I fail to see any other reason. Care to enlighten me?”

“You want a fucking statement? Is that what you want?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Elias smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaa this chapter was mostly an excuse to say that jonah was trans but i promise More Happens in the next chapter


	5. Chapter 5

Michael stood with his back bent at what had to have been at least a 95-degree angle over Martin’s desk. Martin would have been more put off by this if it were not a regular occurrence. Besides, he had never known Michael before his transformation so there was no bitter taste at seeing how he now was. Michael raised a long, pointed finger to the computer screen which sizzled under his touch.

“Stop here,” said Michael, “This line about the pattern of the scarf? The statement is of the Web.”

“Was it the scarf or the person who created it?” Martin asked.

“Most likely the creator. Inanimate objects are only seized by powers because of the power humans put into them.”

“Knitting for evil, what will they corrupt next?” Martin joked. Michael stared at him, not understanding. Before Martin could try and explain, Sasha came bounding through the door. She was holding a newspaper above her head in one hand and pointed at Martin and Michael with the other.

“We are going to rescue Tim!” She pronounced. Michael looked up, or rather his neck stretched upward so that his head was facing Sasha while his limbs and torso remained at their acute angles. Sasha winced but she and the others had learned not to look too directly at Michael anyway, so she did her best to ignore it and continued.

She flicked the newspaper onto Martin’s desk and pointed to a particular column. It was a tiny paragraph, crammed on the fourth page between a large photo of a victorious sporting team and an opinion piece about illegal CD burning and distribution, and under a small picture of a handsome young man. Sasha read aloud:

“Missing person notice: Daniel Stoker, 25 years old, 180cm tall, last seen August 19th, 2013.”

“Sasha that was two years ago,” Martin reasoned, “He’s probably dead by now if he’s not turned up.”

“I know that Martin, but think of it from Tim’s perspective,” she responded.

“What abou-” Michael began.

“What about _what_?” Sasha interrupted, “If I know anything about Tim, he wouldn’t stop until he found a body, and if he doesn’t want to use the resources of the institute to find him anymore, well, he’ll be out there looking himself.”

“I was only going to say, ‘what about the Circus?’” Michael explained.

“What _about_ the circus?” asked Martin.

“I think he last saw his brother at the Circus.” Martin and Sasha looked at him. “What he saw… he thought he was going mad.”

“Hmm, Sasha, what kinds of statements did he put in requests to look into while he was in research?” Martin asked.

“Smirke mostly – you know that – but what does he have to do with the Circus?” She responded.

“Well maybe Smirke built something that the Circus has performed in,” Martin suggested, turning back to his computer to check.

The door to Jon’s office swung open loudly while they studied. Michael disjointed his head from his neck to contort enough to see him walk towards them, leaning on his black and magenta cane. Jon stopped and looked at Michael.

“We’ve talked about this, Michael,” he reprimanded. Michael nodded and pulled himself back together in a flurry of cracking joints and resizing limbs. Martin and Sasha exchanged a look of relief.

“My apologies, I lost myself there for a moment.” Michael apologised. Jon lifted a hand to show that there was no need.

“What are you looking into?” He asked the three of them.

“Sasha found a lead on finding where Tim might’ve gone,” Martin explained.

“We think his brother was taken by the Circus,” Sasha interjected.

“Right,” Martin continued, “but it’s been recorded as showing up in a few different places – even people’s own houses – but we think Smirke might be related too so I’m just trying to find-”

“The Opera House,” Jon answered. The others stared at him. “The Covent Garden Theatre was designed by Robert Smirke and the Royal Opera House was built where it used to be.”

Martin tapped on his computer a few more times to confirm and found that Jon was right.

“That’s our best bet,” said Sasha, peering at the screen. “Or it’s at least a good place to start. Maybe someone has seen him poking around?”

Martin nodded and pushed out his chair and grabbed the coat that was slung around the back of it. “You good to go now? Just to check out the area.” He looked at Sasha. She nodded and headed over to her own desk to grab her things.

“What about you two?” she asked Jon and Michael while pulling her jacket on and slinging her bag around her shoulder. Jon held up his hands.

“Ah, no,” he said. “Tim doesn’t want to see me and considering how put off he was by Michael when he first came in,” he looked to Michael apologetically, “I don’t think it would be helpful for either of us to tag along. It’s for the best if it’s just you two.”

They all seemed to be in agreement, though Michael was fairly put out at the reminder of Tim’s _less than enthusiastic_ reaction to his introduction. Jon raised a hand – almost having to stand on is toes – to rest on Michael’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Martin and Sasha left through the main door to tell Rosie they were going out to follow up statement while Jon headed back to his office with Michael tailing him and perching on one of the spare chairs like a cat.


	6. Chapter 6

Elias’ eyes twinkled green as Gerry marched forward to sit on the opposite of the desk. While Gerry sat leaning back against the chair and folded his arms across his chest, Elias leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. He entwined his fingers together and put his chin on top of them.

“Care to make this one official?” Elias asked, glancing toward the tape recorder that sat next to his left elbow. Gerry looked him dead in the eye.

“If you turn that thing on, I will break it over your head.” He threatened, pointing one of his tattooed fingers at Elias.

“Very well, Mr Keay. Proceed.” Elias smiled.

Gerry sighed, “Look, I’m not doing this to _feed_ you or anything. I know that’s what’s gonna happen anyway and I can’t help it, but I want you to know right now that I have no desire to feed you or your god.”

“Your tattoos beg to differ,”

“‘Course, can’t expect a respectable man such as yourself to understand something as simple as ‘teenage rebellion’,” he snickered to himself “or fashion.”

“Mr Keay-” Elias rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you brought it up!” Gerry laughed, “Anyway, as much as I prefer the Eye above the other dread powers, I’m still not a fan. Mum wanted to be an unsung hero that would be unappreciated in her time but be talked about for generations after her death. Couldn’t handle for anyone ‘above her’ to compliment her work. She wanted to be underground, be a working-class hero, separate from you bougie bastards. She wasn’t wrong about your lot being rich dickheads, but she went about pissing you all off the wrong way.

She should never have taken her job here. Part of me thinks she only did it to meet someone to help her carry on the legacy. As much as she hated people, she couldn’t exactly create an heir without a partner. Well, she found one and then she killed him when it suited her. Thanks for not stepping in to stop that, by the way.” Gerry lowered his eyebrows, “great to see that the institute’s blessed connection with my family wasn’t important enough to stop us from killing each other.”

Elias opened his mouth to say something, but Gerry stared him down.

“Anyway, my mother and father lost their lives to this place, this service to gods that doesn’t give a fuck about us. You think you’re special, Bouchard? That your god loves you as much as you love it? You think that when it comes down to it, it’ll treat you as anything more than just a conduit to feed it? You’re an idiot, like every other follower who thinks that literal manifestations of fear care about any of us. Not much of a statement, I know. But you know what? Fuck you if you want anymore. I’m not here to be your fast food.”

“What about Michael?” Elias asked, crooking his head to the side. Gerry didn’t say anything, but his expression asked a hundred questions. “You know better than anyone that the longer he stays out of his corridors, the more human he becomes. Well, of course he can’t ever be _human_ again, but he can come close. And he’s getting closer, weaker.”

“What are you getting at, Bouchard?”

“Do you really think he’ll be able to remain human without you, that he remains outside of his natural habitat for any reason other than to stay with you? What if your past mistrial was to be renewed with new evidence? Who would take care of him? He would be forced to return to the hallways and who knows how much of you he would be able to remember of you when he returns?” He put on a mock frown, “ _If_ he returns.”

“You fucking bastard,” Gerry had been digging his fingernails into the arms of his chair but now he rose. Gerry had a good two and a half feet over Elias and reached over the desk to lift him up easily. Elias let out a startled grunt as Gerry took him by the shoulders and pulled him over the desk and onto the floor of the opposite side.

Elias scrambled up to reach for the phone on his desk, but Gerry took hold of the back of his neck and bashed his face against the top of the desk before letting him fall back onto the ground.

“You may not be Jurgen Leitner but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat you to a _pulp_ , Bouchard.” Gerry growled at him. He lifted a foot to place on Elias’ chest.

“W-wait!” Elias croaked, blood dripping from his, likely broken, nose, “You can’t kill me, the others- Michael!”

“Don’t,” Gerry pushed his foot down harder, “talk to me about Michael ever again.”

Elias nodded as well as he was able to. Gerry picked his foot back up and walked calmly over to the door. Elias was left spluttering on the floor, trying to roll onto his side. As Gerry grabbed the door handle, he turned back.

“Good talk, Bouchard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things actually happened in this chapter! what a concept! mayhaps consequences will ensue?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoopsie did someone not consider the consequences of their actions?

“Jon? Jon, can you hear me?” Michael waved a widespread hand in front of the collapsed archivist’s face. Jon’s eyes were glazed over and shrunken in pain, with blood dripping steadily out of his nose. Michael dared not to touch Jon, least of all in his current state. Gerry could barely handle holding his hand without keeling over.

Jon had been content for Michael to stay on his perch, watching him work. After a few minutes, however, Jon had started coughing. He reached for his cane to steady himself, but his fingers had overshot the mark and he had fallen out of his chair. Michael was at his side almost immediately, checking his breathing and trying to hear his pulse.

Michael rolled Jon onto his side, taking care not to make contact with his skin, only hooking his pointed fingers around the folds of Jon’s clothes. Now that he could see Jon’s face, he could see that he was bleeding. His nose poured steadily, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

As Jon’s breathing steadily slowed from its harsh wheezing, Michael could hear clunking footsteps rushing down the archive stairs. He could hear Gerry calling out his name.

“We’re in here,” Michael replied. Though he didn’t raise his voice, the volume of it seemed to intensify as the soundwaves moved out of Jon’s office. Within a few seconds, Gerry had rounded the corner and swung himself around the doorway. He opened his mouth as if to say something but once his eyes fell on Jon he rushed forwards.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure,” Michael answered, “he just keeled over.”

“Is- is his nose broken?”

“It appears so, though I do not think he injured it during his fall,”

“Shit, I think this might be my fault.”

Michael met Gerry’s regretful gaze.

“I, uh, might’ve beaten up Elias?” Gerry admitted.

“Good for you but I fail to see how this connects,”

“The Archivist has a stronger connection to the heart of the archives than anyone else.” He explained, “I just never really considered what that might actually mean in practise.”

Gerry paused. “We should leave.” He said eventually.

“We can’t just leave him like this,” Michael answered with an attempt to be incredulous, but which sounded more like he didn’t understand the concept of ‘leaving’ at all.

“Michael, he’s the Archivist, he’ll recover quickly anyway. Also in case you forgot, I just beat the shit out of Elias which probably means the police are on their way. Or at the very least he’ll try and sneak a Leitner into the flat while we’re not there which I would like to prepare for, please.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Michael clawed his feet into the ground where he sat. Gerry responded by staring Michael down like he was a misbehaving child. “He’s kind to me, Gerry.” He lowered his head, “Gertrude wasn’t, and I didn’t leave her.”

“Fine, if I can get him to wake up, can we leave?” Gerry asked. Michael nodded so hard his head nearly vibrated off his shoulders.

Gerry sighed rose to his feet and began searching Jon’s desk. It was unbelievably cluttered for a man who spent much of his time complaining about the previous Archivist’s organisational skills. Gerry shifted piles of papers, moved loose pens and markers, and opened jammed desk drawers.

“By the way, Gerry,” Michael began, “it would probably be beneficial to all involved if you ceased attacking Elias?”

“It’s not like it’s a regular occurrence,”

“Semi-regular, at least,”

“Okay fine, but Bouchard should know not to threaten me when it comes to you,” Gerry responded before finally finding what he was looking for. He returned to sit at Jon’s side with a tape recorder, and a statement. He reached to turn the tape recorder on only to find that it had already begun to spin. Shaking his head, he began:

“Statement of Eleanor Roberts, regarding a clock that should not have worked.”

~

“I haven’t seen it tick since, but sometimes I swear I can hear it.” Gerry slumped slightly after reaching the end of the statement. He and Michael turned to see if Jon would stir. Though his breathing was much calmer and his eyes were now fully closed – not the half-open daze they were before – he showed no real improvement.

“I can’t think of anything else that would help, other than a proper doctor. Christ knows that’s not an option.” Gerry said, exasperated. He turned to Michael, who was deep in attempted thought. Michael’s hair twisted around itself, curling into knots as he considered himself.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “he requires a fresh meal?” Gerry considered this. The only potential harm it might cause Michael would be the nightmares but given that Michael did not have to sleep, it didn’t seem to be an issue. Gerry grabbed Michael’s hand, wincing at the static that shocked through his skin. He nodded at Michael and turned to check the tape recorder.

Michael pulled his hand away just as Gerry was starting to feel faint and checked with him that they were ready to start.

“Well, if the police aren’t here already I guess we’re good to go,” Gerry confirmed. Michael nodded at him and leaned over Jon’s still-limp body. His fingers shrank a little as he shifted his position nervously.

“Statement of Michael, regarding Michael Shelley and a Distortion which ate his friend.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo this chapter is a bit longer and will be a bit of a break for some fluff with just a touch of angst

It wasn’t, by any means, the first time Gerry had heard Michael’s story. He’d known Michael before the change, after all. Back when he was a young man, completely ignorant of what lay mere feet from him at all times whether that was in the form of Gertrude or the Leitners that were brought in by a particularly attractive goth. Despite what Gerry would say, it was never a ‘love at first sight’ kind of meeting. Of course they found each other attractive but that didn’t stop Gerry from being incredibly intimidated by the gossamer charm of Michael, especially considering he spent all of his time with Gertrude who was plenty terrifying on her own; despite her age.

After a few weeks after he first saw Michael, Gerry started trying to find any excuse to come back to the Institute. He would bring books in that he _knew_ weren’t Leitners for Gertrude to inspect while he stole a few minutes talking to Michael. Gerry wasn’t exactly raised with other kids and wasn’t very understanding of how to interact with Michael, but the blonde was understanding and very sweet.

“Anything spooky today?” Gerry had said one day, sitting on the edge of Michael’s desk. Michael looked up at him, pushing back a handful of curls that had fallen in front of his face.

“Always,” he smiled, lifting two pages covered in scrawled handwriting. “A girl had a monster in her closet, but it miraculously disappeared every time her mother shone a light inside.”

“Ah, a classic.”

“What about you? Any magical books for Ms Robinson?” Michael put the statement down, placing all of his attention on Gerry.

“What do you know about my _magical books_?” He leaned forward and raised is eyebrows, questioningly.

“I know that the last three times you’ve come in, Ms Robinson has found them to be remarkably _less_ magical than usual. Based on how fascinated she’s been with almost everything you’ve brought in previously it looks like you might be slacking.”

“Well, ah,” Gerry scrambled for something smooth to say. “Maybe I- uh”

“Maybe,” Michael assisted, “you wanted a reason to come in anyway?”

“Maybe,” Gerry agreed, blushing.

“Maybe.” Michael repeated.

It didn’t take too long after that for them to actually go on a date after that – Michael had encouraged Gerry to ask him out, since it was clear that Gerry needed to feel like he was at least somewhat taking the lead. Of course, it hadn’t taken much for the Institute to come up.

“In all honestly, I actually _do_ believe in all of the things that people come to us with.” Michael admitted.

“Really? Everything?” Gerry asked, taking another sip from his whiskey. It burned his throat on the way down, but he kept a straight face to ensure that the ‘cool’ look he emphasised for Michael didn’t disappear.

“Okay, obviously not _everything_ – some people should cool it with the drugs – but a lot of the people who come in…” he paused. “They weren’t lying about what they saw.”

Gerry traced a finger around the rim of his glass. “Have you ever seen anything?” he asked. Michael looked down at his glass, allowing his hair to obscure his expression. He nodded limply.

“My friend,” he almost whispered, “a friend of mine was taken by- something. So, I went to the institute. I told Ms Robinson my story and she offered me a job.”

“I’m sorry, Michael.” Gerry reached a hand forward and placed it on top of Michael’s. They looked at each other, the dim light of the café illuminating Michael’s golden hair and accentuating Gerry’s sharp features. Michael smiled and Gerry honestly thought he could feel his heart liquify in his chest. They leaned in towards one another – Michael slightly faster than Gerry – but their expressions fell as a waiter interrupted to ask if they wanted any refills.

“Ah, no thank you. Gerry?” Michael turned to confirm with Gerry.

“No for me too, but I think we would like the cheque.”

They walked back to Gerry’s rather than taking a cab. Michael said that he was good for the exercise and that he would rather have more time to talk. Gerry appreciated this but it was clear that he was getting more and more nervous as they got closer to his flat. When they finally stood outside of it, Michael couldn’t tell why. It seemed to just be standard flat with some kind of bookshop attached to it. Though, the sign saying as much had been graffitied with an eye.

“Your handiwork?” Michael nodded at the spray paint. Gerry smirked, his mood lifting slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, “did that a few years back. Mum didn’t notice at first and by the time she did she couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Did you do it before or after you got your tattoos?”

“During. I’m not as badass as I look, Michael. I didn’t get them all done at once.” He rolled up his left sleeve. “I think I had just finished this arm – fingers, elbow, and shoulder – when I did it. Yeah, yeah I remember. I got some of the paint on my bandages.”

“How many do you have?”

“One on every joint,” he turned and pulled at the back of his shirt’s collar, “including my spine.”

Michael peered down Gerry’s back.

“And they go the whole way down?” He asked. Gerry blushed, his eyes going wide.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’ll have to show me the rest of them some time, if you’d like.”

“I’d like.” Gerry responded quickly.

Michael smiled and leaned forward. He kissed Gerry lightly on the lips before pulling away. Gerry was so flushed that he didn’t register at first that he had just been kissed.

“Okay?” Michael checked.

To answer Gerry did the first bold thing he had done all night. He reached forward to grab at Michael’s shoulders and pulled him back in. He could feel Michael smile against his lips as they stood flush against each other. Michael stroked Gerry’s cheek with a thumb and Gerry reached up to twirl a finger around one of Michael’s ringlets. When they pulled back, Gerry was bright red with a giddy smile on his lips.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked. Michael considered.

“No thank you,” he said. Gerry’s face betrayed his attempt to remain polite. “Don’t worry,” Michael reassured him, “it’s just that I have work tomorrow. I promise that if you take me out on a weekend and ask me again, my answer is almost certain to change.”

With that, Michael gave Gerry a final kiss on the forehead and turned to leave. Gerry watched him walk away, the air starting to mist and catch on Michael’s hair making it twinkle in the streetlight. Gerry smiled to himself and let himself into the flat. The isolation inside his apartment seemed even greater than usual after the departure of Michael’s warmth. Gerry walked up the dimly lit stairs and fell onto his bed.

His face still burned, and the feeling of Michael’s lips ghosted his own. He reached a hand up to feel where his forehead had been kissed and could still feel the spot where his skin was warmest. He couldn’t stop the grin that curled itself around his face, even as his loneliness tried to regain its grip on him. It felt like Michael had driven a stake through the heart of whatever made him isolate himself in the face of the horrors he had met.

Now, despite the fact that he didn’t always want to care for himself, he had somebody else he could care for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw my posting has now caught up with my writing so updates may be a bit slower


	9. Chapter 9

As Michael was finishing his statement, Jon began to stir. His musings regarding the Worker of Clay and those who had built Sannikov Land had made Jon’s eyelids flutter for a moment before shutting again. Occasionally he would lift his head for a moment and Gerry would have to lay a hand beneath it for when it inevitably fell back down and lolled to the side.

While Michael spoke, his words echoed around the cluttered room impossibly. The door shifted from side to side and others would momentarily flash into existence before fizzling out, shifting filing cabinets uncomfortably around their entrances. The physics of the room was being as quickly redone as it was undone to the point where Gerry felt sick to look at any one spot for too long.

Gerry’s head ached but he kept his focus on Jon as best he could. He could feel Jon’s pulse begin to quicken as Michael neared the end of his statement.

“When I awoke, I was not who I was, but I was not yet who I was to become. I should not have been taken to a hospital as they soon discovered. There was no treatment for what I was to be, only acceptance. I knew nothing true in that liminal space; nothing of Michael. All I could see beyond my bed were two doors. One was white, the other yellow. I saw a choice in what I saw before me but did not understand what the choices were, nor why I needed to choose. There was a man who would visit me sometimes, but I could not speak to him,” Michael turned and smiled at Gerry, whose head was pounding with the effort to smile back, “Words had not yet made their peace with my throat.

This man knew who I had once been and held my hand while I stared at those doors. Doctors would come through the white one but would sometimes exit through the yellow. When they would leave through the door that I would come to learn was mine, I would feel a sensation that I could not easily describe before I remembered what it was to both eat and to capture.

When my form accepted the two legs which I now could stand upon, this man who sat with me – and watched and allowed so many to disappear through the yellow door – helped me to my feet and led me to the doors. He told me that he loved me and that I needed to do what I had to in order to survive. That was the first thing I learned, Archivist; I was beloved. And soon after I entered that door and felt it shut behind me, I learned that I loved as well.

I made my corridor my own, consuming and distorting for some time before I exited that door again. When I did, I found myself in a temple of the Beholding. I learned of what hatred was. To be a creature of delusion and to exist in a space of absolute knowledge was worse than a perversion of interest; it was an experience of being turned inside myself and having all I was pulled from my form. My person, if one was still to be found, was no longer my own.

The second thing I had ever learned returned to me as I saw the man I loved. I did not know his name, nor why I loved him; only that it felt wrong to know the _truth_ of how I felt. It ached like a dull wheeze to see him and tore at me like a razor blade to touch him. I learned that I did not care.”

Jon’s back twisted awkwardly as if in echo to the way that the wallpaper was now beginning to slide onto the ceiling, before liquifying and dripping in heavy patterned droplets onto the ground. The puddles coloured the ground messily and coated the hem of Gerry’s jacket that slid onto the floor as he cradled Jon’s head and torso. He curled Jon’s form closer to himself, trying to keep the wallpaper from touching either of them.

“Might wanna wrap it up, Michael,” he warned. Jon’s eyes opened slightly, his pupils widening in recognition. He opened his mouth to speak but felt his throat rasp before any sound could escape it. Michael heard what Gerry had said, and more than usual he had understood. But he was adamant not to stop until Jon had recovered.

“Knowledge was something so at odds with myself that to be so sure of something was sure to have destroyed me. Yet, I have sustained myself and I have been sustained by the very thing that should be the cause of my demise. It wouldn’t be before weeks had passed that I would be able to abandon my corridors to remain with this-” 

“Michael! That’s enough! He’s fine now,” Gerry called to him. Jon’s eyes were no longer struggling to stay open, though his body was still limp against Gerry’s.

“Thank you, Michael,” Jon rasped, “I’m not quite sure what happened to me.”

“Elias got injured, and your link to him seems to have grown unfortunately stronger,” Gerry explained.

“Injured?”

“Yeah,”

“Freak accident?”

“Yeah, he fell face-first into a desk,”

“You found him after?”

“I saw it happen,”

“Saw it, or made it happen?”

“Look, if this is a game of 20 questions, you’ve got 16 more. If not, lay off.” Gerry shoved Jon’s form off of him.

“Gerry,” Michael and Jon spoke in unison.

“No! I’m not going apologise for giving that git half of what he deserved!” Gerry defended himself.

“I’m not asking you to, Gerry,” Jon explained, using the desk to hoist himself up, “If anything I’m glad we know how strong the link has grown, I just don’t want to be-” he stopped himself. He took a breath. “I just don’t want _you_ to lie to me.”

Michael edged backwards awkwardly, the liquified wallpaper rolling back to its home.

“Gerry?” Michael was opening a door, “I think I would like to go home now.” Gerry nodded and followed Michael through it, not looking back at Jon. Gerry had learned quickly that it was best to keep his eyes closed while in the corridors and to simply follow the gentle tug of Michael’s fingertip, hooked through a crease of his shirt or his beltloops. The headache dulled quickly after exiting the corridor, as they found themselves back in Gerry’s apartment.

“What about the car?” Gerry asked, softly, his mind still foggy.

“I do not think you should be leaving the flat anytime soon, Gerry. You need rest,” Michael continued to lead Gerry over to their bedroom, “we can pick up the car later.”

“Mm,” Gerry hummed as he lay down on the bed. Though the headache was dulling, his head was still swimming, and he was thankful to fall asleep quickly enough that he didn’t have to worry about the nausea. Michael lay down next to him, resting a heavy hand on Gerry’s chest since he didn’t have the time to pull the weighted blanket over him before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing for my baby boy michael is great bc the less it makes sense, the more in character it technically is


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo boy another long(er) one! stuff actually happens, enjoy

The traffic on the way to the opera house was worse than Sasha and Martin had expected. It was almost 4pm before they could even see the building, and any semblance of confidence that Martin felt as they walked up to the looming building melted away with the dying winter sunlight.

“God why are theatres so much creepier at night?” he shivered, turning to Sasha. She didn’t respond, instead opting to walk through the gap of the broken fence that surrounded the back of the building. Her phone was in her hand almost immediately, light flicked on and scanning the ground around her before lifting it up to see the emergency exit that they planned to enter through. Sasha was focussed on a singular goal; find Tim or find some clue as to where he might be.

The emergency exit was easy enough for them to get in through, it appeared that the alarm it was hooked up to was either no longer connected or simply not working. Either way, Sasha and Martin had now successfully gotten into the opera house and were heading for the basement. The backstage walls were covered in scrawled messages of good luck, signatures, and even a few lipstick stains.

“Up there,” Sasha whispered after a few minutes. She was nodding towards a staircase at the end of the corridor. “That’s got to be it.” Martin nodded silently and began to follow Sasha but stopped suddenly to look at something on the wall that had caught his eye. It took Sasha a moment to notice he wasn’t behind her, at which point she spun around quickly – her ponytail smacking her in the face – to find him standing deathly still.

“Martin, what are y-” she was cut off by Martin grabbing her wrist. She looked from it to his face, but he was still staring at the wall. She turned to see what he was looking at, her eyes struggling to distinguish one messy scribble from another. After she had isolated the phrase that Martin was transfixed by, she understood. Written in a neat, curled script and in a bold royal blue ink was the phrase _‘Welcome to the Circus, Danny!’_ and underneath it: _‘Soon to come: Two for One!’_.

Sasha twisted her wrist so that she could hold Martin’s hand and pulled him away from the wall, towards the stairs. The first two steps creaked with effort as Martin and Sasha walked down them as quickly as they could. Martin was at least trying to remain quiet, but Sasha had apparently given up all pretence of such an idea. When they reached the bottom of the stairs they began to hear what sounded like some kind of music box.

It played a melody that was sharp but sweet, rolling from one note to another with a kind of swing; like a tired child was turning it with only the smallest effort. Sasha put her hand on Martin’s chest, stopping him from following her and gesturing for him to wait at the stairs for her to return. He did as he was told and sat down on the bottom step, holding his torchlight out in front of him like a weapon.

Sasha edged further and further into the darkness. Her torchlight slashed through it, but she still couldn’t find the source of the music. She would turn back every few steps to make sure that she could still see Martin, shaking on that bottom step, waiting for her. She took a breath to calm herself but when she released it she realised that the music had stopped. There was absolute silence. Then all at once there was something deafeningly loud.

It felt like all of her blood was rushing to her head with a dizzying and agony-inducing effect. She fell to the ground, her phone clattering out of her hands. She could almost hear Martin call out to her, but his shrill voice was muffled by the gurgling, pounding sound of blood in her ears. She reached her hands up to them, whether to try and block the sound or to see if she was bleeding (she must have been, mustn’t she?) she wasn’t sure, but it felt at least somewhat comforting to do _something_.

When two hands placed themselves gingerly over her own, she winced.

“Martin, something’s wrong,” she gasped, “my head, it’s-”

“I know,” said a voice that wasn’t Martin’s. Sasha threw her hands away from her head, pushing the other pair away with them. She reached for her phone, groping along the cold, dust covered ground. When she felt a light coming from behind her, she turned and held up her hands, stopping the light from blinding her. To her amazement, the light was handed to her by the figure it silhouetted. When metal made warm from skin contact was placed in her hand, Sasha realised it was her phone, miraculously not cracked from its fall.

She debated momentarily whether to turn the light off and make a break for it, or if it would be better to identify the stranger. _Stranger_. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet it, let alone _see_ what kind of monstrosity might have been spawned in a place like this. Her thoughts were interrupted by those hands being placed on her own again. They held her fists closed over the phone.

“Wouldn’t want to go losing it again, would we, Sash? It already cost you an arm and a leg.” The voice said.

Sasha’s eyes went wide.

“Tim?” she gasped and heard a familiar chuckle in response. She turned the phone’s light to see him, kneeling in front of her. She couldn’t see any signs of his skin not sitting quite right or his mouth or joints falling at odd angles so she decided that it must really be him. She threw herself forward and hugged him, trying – and failing – to hold back tears.

“Nice reception committee,” Tim joked. Sasha punched his arm.

“More than what you deserve,” she retorted, “where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick!”

“Sure, yeah, I’m _certain_ that Mr Archivist, the creepy goth and the literal demon have been searching high and low for me.”

“Oh come off it, Tim. Martin and I have- oh my god.” Sasha stood up, nearly knocking Tim over. “Where is he? Martin! Martin!?” She ran to the base of the stairs to find Martin gone. Tim urged her to go back up to the car as he followed, hoping Martin had the sense to wait there for her. When they finally made their way out of the labyrinth of hallways back to the emergency exit they had initially snuck through, they found Martin squatting by the side of the car hunched over his phone.

“Oh thank god,” he cried when he saw them. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to run, but when I heard you scream I thought I went to check on you, but you couldn’t hear me. I- I tried to call an ambulance but I couldn’t get a signal, so I came back up here.” He laughed lightly, “Still no luck, though.” He held up his phone which was displaying an alert that he was out of signal range.

Tim had been awkwardly standing behind Sasha, and Martin was clearly still too freaked out to notice him properly. He started for a moment before questioningly holding out a hand to shake. Tim stared at it and Martin almost pulled it back in embarrassment before Tim reached forward to grab it and use it to pull Martin into a hug.

“Glad to see you’re alright, Tim,” Martin said.

“Glad to be alright,” Tim replied.

“Enough flirting,” Sasha chided, “time to head back.”

“Back where?” asked Tim. Sasha and Martin looked at him incredulously.

“Back to the Institute.” Said Sasha. Tim took a step back.

“No,” he said, “I left for a reason. I’m not going back to a place that’s filled with the same sort of monsters that took my brother.”

“Tim-” Martin began.

“No!” Tim repeated. “I’m not going back there. And I’m not going anywhere else unless it’s to find the people that took Danny.”

“Danny is dead, Tim!” Sasha yelled. “Surely you must realise that!”

“I know he is,” he replied, quieter than Martin or Sasha expected in that moment. “but that doesn’t mean I can’t make them pay for it.” Gleaming red shone in Tim’s eyes as he turned to leave. Martin reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder, to beg him to reconsider. Tim lashed out, a knife that neither Martin nor Sasha had noticed until now firm in his grip. It grazed Martin’s hand, cutting the skin on his palm. He cried out, but if Tim heard, he didn’t care.

"Tim, if you stay away you'll die!" Martin pleaded, clutching at broken and bleeding skin. 

"I'd like to see that stupid Eye try," Tim growled before climbing through the hole in the fence and leaving Martin and Sasha alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I look up how danny actually got into the old theatre? No. I am hoping I was somewhat close because I love the aesthetic of backstage areas (yes I was a theatre kid shut up)


	11. Chapter 11

Michael wouldn’t let Gerry come into work the next day. He insisted that what they’d been through with Jon – and the still to be seen consequences of his attack on Elias – was reason enough to take a day. Besides, it wasn’t like Gerry actually worked there. It was true that Gerry was tired, his fatigue seeping back into his head like a weight on his shoulders growing steadily heavier.

Michael had brought him his cane and propped up the wheelchair next to the bed just in case. He made sure that Gerry would have everything he needed before leaving to return to the archives.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Michael asked as his door manifested.

“Michael,” Gerry groaned, “it’s not like I’d be awake for enough of the day to spend any time with you. Besides, we don’t know what kinds of consequences you might face if you stay away from the Institute.” Michael had protested further but eventually left for work. This was how their days continued for the next week and a half. Gerry’s fatigue was hitting him worse than usual, so he didn’t fight it when Michael insisted he stay home. Michael would come home each afternoon and tell him what had happened.

“Any other sightings of Tim?” Gerry asked.

“No,” Michael replied, “nothing since they saw him at the opera house. He keeps moving all the time, looking for the Circus. Jon and I are struggling to keep our eyes on him.”

“What about Elias? I thought he and Jon were supposed to be able to see everything?”

“Elias says he will not help, but it is a lie. He cannot see Tim because he has been consumed by a power that the Eye understands but cannot follow. One which must search for closure that it will never receive.”

“Tim’s been taken by the Hunt,” Gerry lowered his eyes. Michael placed a tentative hand on his shoulder to comfort him, careful to avoid any part of him that was not covered by clothing. Gerry leans into the touch, aching to place his own hand atop Michael’s.

“And the Institute claims another monster.” Michael muses. Gerry looks up at him, unamused by the sentiment. “Though, of course,” Michael continues, “this one wants to hunt and kill beings like Elias and I.”

“And Jon,” Gerry adds.

“Not quite yet, I don’t think. He hates what Jon is _becoming_ but that is still far away. Jon may be marked but he has not been consumed.”

“What about me? I’ve been fucking around with the powers since I could crawl. Do you see any marks on me?”

There was a long silence while Michael considered him. Truths were not his domain, and neither was seeing deep beyond the surface of someone. If Gerry was marked to become someone important – someone like the Archivist or whatever it might’ve been that the followers of Agnes Montague were trying to create in her – then it follows that Michael should be able to recognise it. But for him to be simply another mortal marked to follow one of the powers in a lesser capacity…

“I do not know if you are _marked_ , but I think it is not a far stretch to say that you are sought after.” Michael eventually settled on.

“Sought after by who? The Eye?” Gerry asked.

“Perhaps, though you’ve also had quite intense run ins with the Desolation and with the Spiral.”

Gerry chuckled to himself, “Yes, ‘quite intense’ indeed.” Michael’s eyebrows rose to his scalp and he frowned, trying to hide the blush that crept up his neck. He sped to change the subject.

“How is your fatigue doing?” he settled on.

“How’s that minimum wage raise going?”

“Well okay then,”

“Sorry, I just- It’s worse these past few days for some reason.” Gerry raised a hand to his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want to move back to bed?” Michael asked. Gerry grunted and nodded. Michael held out his arm so that Gerry could pull himself out and balance on the way back to the bedroom. Gerry staggered across the floor, leaning heavily on Michael. Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through Gerry’s head and he felt his feet slip out from under him. Michael still held him up and stopped him from falling fully, but he leaned to lay him gently on the ground.

Gerry’s head twitched uncomfortably to the right as the pain continued to radiate from his head. He looked to Michael, about to tell him to stop touching him, to make the pain stop. But when he looked up, Michael was no where near touching him; Michael had not made proper skin contact with him in days. Before he could even comprehend what might be causing the pain, another bought of it ricocheted through his skull and down his neck. This shock pushed him past the brink of consciousness until his head lolled to the side.

Michael called to him, but his voice echoed more than usual. It bounced off the inside of his skull as he began to drift into an uncomfortable sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this chapter was rough to write for some reason??? sorry for the wait aaaaaaaa


	12. Chapter 12

Jon had, shamefully, taken to napping at his desk occasionally. He stayed at work much longer than he should have most days, so it wasn’t particularly unusual for him to be gently dosing a few hours after his shift ended before being sharply woken up by his phone ringing. He groggily fumbled around on his desk, searching for the phone that he couldn’t see through his sleep-filled eyes. When his hand finally fell on the hard, rectangular object, he cleared his throat and raised it to his ear.

“H-hello? Uh, Jonathan Sims speaking.” He croaked.

“Archivist, you have to come, you have to come now,” Michael’s voice poured through the speaker, almost undeterminable through the static that surrounded it. “Gerry won’t wake up and I don’t think it is Distortion or Beholding, but I can’t be sure that calling for a doctor is what will help him. Please come, Archivist, you’ll Know what to do.” The panic in his voice was palpable, though his tone was nothing different from how it usually sounded.

“Have you called anyone else?” Jon decided to ask.

“No, I could not think of anyone who might be able to help.”

“Alright, I’m leaving the Institute now, so I’ll be there as soon as possible. In the meantime, call Martin. Have him come too if he’s able.”

Michael made a noise of acknowledgment before hanging up. Jon grabbed his cane and rose as quickly as he could. He was glad that Elias had already told him that he had planned to stay late to work on some spreadsheets for the next quarter, so Jon didn’t have to worry about locking up the building as he left. The cold of the evening air hit him like a tonne of bricks as he walked quickly to the nearby tube station.

He knew that Martin lived a quick walk away from Gerry’s apartment so hoped that he would be there to comfort Michael before the train could deliver him. Jon knew he wasn’t the best at comforting people, much less at comforting the incarnation of lies because something was wrong with its boyfriend. The ride on the train was mostly uneventful, aside from a rather inebriated person who had chosen the seat next to Jon to rest on while waxing poetic about some woman or other that he was apparently destined to be with.

~

After hurriedly pulling his shoes and coat on, Martin had rushed to Gerry’s flat down the street. He couldn’t hear Michael very well through the static, but he gathered that something bad had happened with Gerry and that Jon was also on his way to help. He barely managed to knock on the door before Michael was there, ushering him inside. It looked like Michael thought he should be shaking, as he was vibrating quite fast in front of Martin.

“Gerry is in there,” he gestured to what Martin assumed was their bedroom.

“Would you like me to go have a look at him?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Michael nodded, “I think I would like it if you could check his pulse, I don’t dare touch him.”

Martin looked at him sympathetically before heading into the bedroom. Gerry was lying on a bed, most of the blankets beneath him but with a thick sheet covering his bottom half.

“His feet get cold sometimes,” Michael explained. Gerry _was_ breathing, but it was sporadic, sometimes shaky and light, other times heavy and laboured. His face didn’t contort, and the rest of his body lay dead still under the sheet. Martin made his way over and lay a hand on Gerry’s chest. Though his hand was resting outside of Gerry’s shirt, Martin could already feel the cold that was practically radiating off his body. But yes, under the cold he could feel Gerry’s heart pounding. It was surprisingly steady, despite his ragged breath.

Martin stood like that for a few seconds before feeling tremendously awkward. He smiled uncomfortably at Michael.

“Well, he’s breathing? And uh, his heart seems to be working fine. I’m-” he paused and took a breath, “I’m sorry, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here or why Jon thought I could help, I’m not exactly doctor.”

Martin knew a little about how to _generally_ take care of someone; his mother was ill for most of his life but taking care of her mostly entailed cooking, cleaning, and letting her take her frustrations out on him.

“I do not expect you to be able to heal him, Martin. That is why I called the Archivist first. It was him who suggested that I call you as well.” Said Michael.

“What help did Jon think I’d be?” Martin scoffed. As if on command, there was a knocking at the door. They made their way over to it and welcomed Jon – whose eyes were dark and sunken in the yellow light of the apartment’s cheap fixtures – in. His head almost immediately snapped towards the bedroom. Eyes widening, Jon started towards it, barely even acknowledging Michael and Martin’s presence. He seemed to be shaking, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Martin moved to put a comforting hand on Michael’s shoulder, only realising after he’d began to move that it was unlikely he would be able to reach. He settled for patting his upper arm awkwardly, trying to hide the wince he made at the contact.

“Jon will probably be a while,” Martin broke the silence. “How about I put the kettle on?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact I wrote 80% of this chapter while listening to “Don’t Break Me” by Montaigne on repeat so those are the vibes for this chapter, strap in slkfjskdl also!! Mayhaps a bit of martim?
> 
> A few content warnings for this chapter that aren’t in the tags:  
> -financial stress  
> -poor eating habits  
> -cancer/tumours

The temperature in Gerry’s bedroom as uncomfortably warm. Jon couldn’t tell if it was because of the pain he could feel radiating off of Gerry or if it was his own nerves. Gerry’s mind seemed to be pretty much as intact as it was normally, if not in slightly more pain than usual. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was intending to do, but he always seemed to figure these things out in the end.

There was a sort of aura surrounding Gerry’s head (though Jon was immensely annoyed that he couldn’t think of a less fantastical way of describing it). It was black and dark red and resonated from the back of his skull, bleeding outwards and down his neck. He reached forward nervously to sink his hand into the fog. He expected for it to be somewhat solid, or even to perhaps reject his advance, but he found that the mist was almost welcoming.

Wisps of colour danced around his hand and seemed to pull him in until he was pressing the palm of his hand lightly against the back of Gerry’s head. As soon as his fingers brush the dark of Gerry’s hair a shock of knowledge bolts through him. The vision of the growth nesting itself within the inner folds of Gerry’s brain burned itself into the back of Jon’s eyes. He yanked his hand away, hoping that the image and the certainty of what it means will dissipate without the physical contact.

Jon staggered backwards, finding a desk chair somewhere behind him and sitting down heavily in it. His cane clacked to the ground somewhere next to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, Gerry,” he sighed, cradling his head in his hands. A tumour. Cancer. He knew that a smaller growth had been what took his own grandmother from him not two years ago and so was almost impressed that one – in Gerry’s _brain_ , no less – had not killed him yet. Jon rubbed his thumbs along his eyebrows, considering his next step. He knew that as soon as he walked out of the bedroom door Michael would be on him to know what was wrong, and that Michael would know if he was lying. To be fair, Martin would probably also be able to tell if Jon was lying; he wasn’t exactly good at it.

He sighed and looked up at Gerry. He looked peaceful, except for that dim red fog that was slowly becoming darker and darker. He knew about the tumour, but the Eye wouldn’t show him how long he’d had it or, more importantly, if anything could be done about it. Jon’s guess was that there probably wasn’t much hope, but if Gerry had managed to not even exhibit symptoms until now…

Regardless, Gerry was ill – deathly so – and Jon was the only one that knew. Even Gerry didn’t know.

“Well, I guess you know now?” Jon said to Gerry’s sleeping form, “You may not be as connected to the Eye as I am, but I doubt you didn’t at least suspect something. You always were too tough, Gerry. Too tough to tell us if there was something wrong, or to acknowledge that there might even _be_ something wrong. Although I suppose it must take a lot for you consider something to be _wrong_ considering your upbringing. Your mother was, well – I’d never had the pleasure of meeting her but – she was certainly an interesting woman.”

Jon’s gaze travelled to the closed door on the other side of the room, and his ears strained to hear a muffled conversation between Martin and Michael.

“You know, as far as eldritch boyfriends go, I think you’ve done pretty well,” Jon joked. “You do call Michael your boyfriend, right? I’m not quite sure how gender really applies to something like hi- like Michael. God, now I’m rambling, aren’t I.”

~

“So Gerry, _fed_ , people to you?” Martin asked, attempting to be polite.

“He did not open the door for then, but neither did he warn them what would happen if they walked through.” Michael responded. It was difficult making conversation with Michael, he never gave you a straight answer and even when he did it made your head swim to keep up, let alone understand. “But” he continued, “if it were not for his actions, I would’ve starved.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Said Martin. He smiled to himself fondly, “You know, there was a time back when we were all in research together, I was really struggling financially. I had to pay for my mum’s care, so I was barely able to pay for rent, let alone food. I would always come to work starving, so Tim, Jon, and Sasha started bringing extra food in. I didn’t notice at first – I think they realised how uncomfortable I would’ve been if they started bringing me full meals – it was just an extra sushi roll here, some spare sandwich slices there. If it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t have been eating. Jon said it was Tim’s idea; he was the one who noticed when I stopped bringing food in.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, stewing in their mutual near loss. The door to the bedroom swung open before either of them could begin speaking again. Jon walked out slowly with his eyes trained on Michael. He stood awkwardly in the corner.

“You know what is wrong with him?” Michael asked.

“Yes, Michael,” Jon responded, “Gerry has a brain tumour. I’m not sure how long he’s had it, but I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon. However,” he looked away, “I think I know how to help him. It won’t be easy, and it’s ultimately a choice for Gerry, but I feel you deserve to know too.”

“Go on, Archivist,”

“I think that if Gerry allows himself to be consumed by Beholding, it might save him.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Gerry will never agree to it,” said Michael.

“But if it could save his life-” Martin began, before he was interrupted.

“That won’t make a difference to him,” Jon interjected, “His mother gave up her humanity for immortality, Gerry knows better than anyone that it’s not necessarily the easiest or best decision to be made, regardless of his alternative.”

Jon had taken Michael’s seat, allowing Michael to pace around the apartment. Occasionally he would walk through one of the chairs or would suddenly appear on the other side of the room without walking there. Martin would jump in to try and help whenever he felt comfortable, but Jon – it seemed – couldn’t help but be reasonable about the whole situation.

“What would it be like for him to be fully consumed by Beholding?” Michael asked after a while. Jon didn’t answer immediately, instead opting to wring his wrists uncomfortably.

“Well, um,” he said eventually, “I don’t think I’m really allowed to Know that. I mean, there’s Elias but I’m not really sure what other manifestations of Beholding are present in him except for the obvious. And,” he paused, lowering his head on his shoulders even lower, eyes creeping to hide from the others, “there is me, but I know even less about what’s happening to me. He might not even need to feed on statements, I think that might just be me. I think.”

Martin briefly raised a hand to rest on Jon’s shoulder, but he thought better of it. That would probably just make Jon feel more Seen; more uncomfortable.

“As long as you tell Gerry what we know, and give him the _choice_ , I think anything else is out of our hands.” Martin proposed.

“Tell me what?” said a voice, steeped in gravel. Michael, Jon, and Martin turned to see Gerry staggering out of his bedroom, leaning heavily on his cane. Michael was the first to move but Martin was the one who actually took Gerry by the hand to sit down. Gerry usually painted himself with his pale foundation, but he hadn’t touched any of his makeup in days, so his white complexion which stood out against the sleep-deprived bruises of his eyes worried the group. Even as he sat and relaxed into the soft cushions of the couch, Gerry shook ever so slightly.

“So did you all just decide that Tuesday was ‘gossip-about-Gerry-day’?” he joked.

“Gerry, please,” Michael strode forward to sit at Gerry’s feet. He sat cross-legged but his long limbs made him look like a spider watching a bird intently.

“Michael,” Gerry sighed, “I _Know_ , okay? I know about the tumour.”

“You didn’t say-”

“I mean, I didn’t know, but I know now. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“And what do you know about how to make it go away?”

“Actually, I don’t know if it will actually remove it, it might just remove the danger involved.” Jon piped in before promptly shutting his mouth. Gerry looked from Michael to Jon, then back to Michael again.

“What are you two on about?”

“Give yourself to Beholding. It will save you,” said Michael. He whispered it to Gerry, almost like a prayer. Gerry didn’t even respond. He snatched his cane from Martin and stood up to leave. Before they could stop him, he started for his bedroom. He barely took two steps before he keeled over, his knees buckling beneath him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as Martin reached quickly to catch his head before it could hit the ground.

His eyelids didn’t fully close, instead they fluttered as he tried to regain focus on the people surrounding him. When he properly came to, he was still on the ground, but his head was in Martin’s lap. Michael was sat in front of him, kneeling and craning his face so it was only an inch or so from Gerry’s. Jon was the only one still on a chair, his leg bouncing with nerves.

“Gerry?” Martin said, his voice high and concerned. Gerry opened his mouth but when he tried to speak, it felt like everything except words were crawling up his throat. He choked and spluttered, trying to writhe his way out of Martin’s lap. Michael pushed one of his hands to Gerry’s shoulder, pinning him back down.

“Don’t move, you’ll only hurt yourself again.” He said, crooking his head sympathetically. He reached to put another hand on Gerry’s cheek, but Gerry batted it away.

“Stop,” Gerry rasped, “Look, there’s got to be another way. I’m _not_ becoming a-” he looked to Michael, then looked away.

“You won’t become like me, Gerry,” said Michael, “Avatars of the Beholding are hardly the most monstrous of us.”

“Thanks,” Jon muttered.

“It’s not about _looking_ monstrous Michael,” Gerry pleaded, “It’s about becoming something I’m not! And don’t you _dare_ bring my family history into this. I thought you would understand, Michael. You had this forced on you, I thought you would get that I don’t want that!”

Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t move, or speak, or even blink. Jon shifted uncomfortably and looked to Martin for help.

“We should probably leave you to figure this out, you’ve got all of the help Jon and I can give.” Martin said. He slipped out from behind Gerry and practically carried him back to the bedroom. Michael stayed where he was, crouched on the ground. Jon shared a knowing look with him as he left with Martin, closing the flat’s door behind them.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Martin asked, once they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know,” Jon responded. “But I don’t think that I would be able to fault him for choosing one way or the other.”


	15. Chapter 15

Gerry slipped in and out of consciousness for days. Michael stayed with him always, starving himself from returning to his hallways. Whenever Gerry was awake, Michael would tiptoe around what was happening, deciding instead to simply keep him company. They talk about a lot of things together, but if you were to ask them what was said, neither would be able to recall. Nothing they said was of value, all superficial conversation.

Jon, Martin, and Sasha would come to visit sometimes. They would bring food, although Gerry had lost his appetite and Michael had no need to eat. Sometimes they would just sit in silence, nothing more to be said. After a week, however, a guest arrived who was not expected. Michael answered the door to see Elias standing on the other side with a tall, looming man standing with him. The man who had captained the boat that led to his death.

“Michael,” Elias greeted, “You’re looking well. Peter and I thought we might pay Gerard a visit.” His smile reverberated in Michael’s head, a stark lie of civility and polite concern. Before Michael could stop them, Peter pushed his way into the flat, Elias following behind, never once breaking eye contact with Michael. The two men regarded the inside of the flat with condescension as Elias made a beeline for the bedroom.

Elias walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind, which clearly threw Peter for a moment. He regained his composure quickly however and turned to stand imposingly outside the door. Though his frame was nowhere near as expansive as Michael’s – particularly given that Michael was in a bad mood and was expressing this by expanding another few feet in every direction – Peter was still an intimidating man.

A familiar chill crept over Michael as he stood in the other man’s presence. It didn’t affect him as greatly as it once did – he knew that the loneliness was a lie – but the creeping feeling only exacerbated the fear he felt. The fear of losing Gerry. The fear that Gerry thought he was a monster and that death was better than becoming like him. The fear of losing Gerry.

~

Elias strode to the side of the bed. Gerry was lying asleep on his side, the bedsheets twisted around him. His head rested on his elbow while the hand of the other arm clutched the blankets tightly around himself. As Elias approached, Gerry’s grip on his blanket pulled in slightly tighter. Elias could see the fog that surrounded Gerry’s head and bled down his skin, just as he had seen it every time Gerry entered the institute for the past months. The fog was darker than he had ever seen it.

“Well, well, Gerard,” Elias mused, “You are in a spot of trouble, aren’t you? Suddenly you’re not so tough walking around attacking people, you’re stuck here.” A grin crept over his face. “If only you’d taken a job at the Institute, maybe you would’ve foreseen this before it got this far. Maybe, as your employer, I could have been persuaded that it was my civic duty to inform you about the tumour. Unfortunately for you, you were nothing more to me than a piece that refused to fit where it was made to go.”

“Do you have a point, Bouchard?” Gerry groaned.

“Not if you continue to act like a child, pretending to be asleep so you don’t have to talk to me.”

Gerry slowly sat up. “You come into my home, you come into my _room_ , so that you can rub in my face that maybe if I’d followed orders you had no right to give me then maybe I wouldn’t be dying, and you say that _I’m_ behaving like a child? Fuck off.”

“Come now, Gerard,” Elias put a firm hand on Gerry’s shoulder, pushing him roughly back onto the bed. “I have a proposition for you.”

“In case you didn’t see the 8-foot monster in the other room, I’m spoken for.”

“Gerard,” Elias looked annoyed, which Gerry found some small comfort in, “I’m going to once again, offer you a job at the Institute. Before you strain something trying to attack me again, I thought you might like to know that I can save you.”

“How do I know you’re not shitting me?” Gerry looked him up and down, trying to hide the excitement he felt at an alternate choice. Neither of his options aligned with how he’d wanted to live, but this was definitely the lesser of two evils.

“You can ask you 8-foot monster if you’d like. Then again, do you have much of a choice if you don’t want to become like him?”

“Or like you,” Gerry muttered.

“Quite,” Elias grinned even wider, if it was possible to do so while still looking like a priggish gentleman. “I don’t expect an answer right now but do mull it over.”

He headed back towards the door of the bedroom and opened it. He paused for a moment, eliciting an annoyed groan from Gerry.

“Don’t take too long though, even I’m not sure how much time you have left.” With that, he left the room. A loud thud followed his exit as Gerry threw a nearby shoe at the now closed door. Peter and Michael were still in some kind of silent staring contest when Elias turned to face them.

“Oh, do stop flirting, Peter,” Elias took Peter’s shirt collar between his thumb and forefinger and dragged him back out of the apartment. Michael could hear Peter finally speak when they had left the apartment, apparently arguing about something expensive but chose to ignore them in favour of checking on Gerry. Upon entering the bedroom, Michael saw Gerry as he had left him. Asleep. He was doing a lot of that lately, not always truthfully.

Michael climbed into the bed and lay next to Gerry, rolling over and holding him carefully. Peter had left, and now Michael was with Gerry, but Michael had never felt more alone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting there to be this much relationship angst im sorry im trying to fix it now ldskfdjsl (also the song I listened to on repeat writing this chapter was Andante, Andante by ABBA)

Michael knew that Gerry was lying to him. He said that Elias just came to patronise him, but that nothing else happened. Gerry looked Michael in the eye as he lied, a question sitting behind the deception. The bed beneath them was still warm under the covers from the previous night, but the now empty space between them was void and cold.

“I do not think Elias was lying to you,” Michael replied to the unasked query.

“What?” Gerry raised his head from where it lay against his pillow. He looked at Michael with something like betrayal.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know what he told you. But whatever it was, it wasn’t a lie.”

“He said he could save me,” Gerry said, this time without hesitation, “Didn’t say how, but I’m betting it’s gonna be painful.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’ve been a prick. I don’t _want_ to keep things from you, Michael.” Gerry leaned across the space between them and placed a hand on Michael’s knee. Michael stared at Gerry’s hand.

“I don’t want you to keep things from me either. I didn’t know much of anything before, but I know that I don’t want you to die, Gerry. I want to live whatever of me exists as a ‘life’ with you. I won’t judge any choice you make about this, or its repercussions.”

Gerry smiled and inched his face closer to Michaels. Michael’s eyes shot up to meet Gerry’s just as their faces were mere millimetres from touching. They closed the space and melted into each other, Gerry’s free hand lifting to cup Michael’s cheek. Stars were exploding behind his eyes and it was almost too much for him to bear, but Gerry kept himself there; with Michael as close to him as possible. The stars faded and they pulled their lips apart after a few seconds keeping flush against each other.

“We should fight more often,” Gerry joked softly.

“I love you, Gerry.” Michael replied, his forehead nuzzled against Gerry’s. Gerry pulled back to look at him. Michael’s voice had sounded different, it didn’t bounce around inside his head like usual, instead it was clear and crisp. Something was wrong with how he looked, or rather, something was _right_.

“Michael, you-”

“I’ve always known that my love for you was true but,” he paused, considering, “I’m not sure. Something feels different.” That was when Gerry realised what was right about Michael. His eyes. They weren’t spinning as they used to, instead they were clear and still; focused entirely on Gerry. Once he noticed his eyes, he began to See a myriad of other changes. His hair was still, his stature had shrunk closer to what it once was, and his voice – his headache inducing voice – now bounced off the walls instead of the inside of Gerry’s skull.

Michael noticed Gerry staring and knew something was wrong. He clutched at his own face but pulled his hand away at the shocking absence of shock. His skin would usually be buzzing perpetually, but now it lay still. He could feel his own heartbeat.

Michael hadn’t felt his heart beat inside his chest since he had ceased to be human. Without truly realising what he was doing, he grabbed Gerry’s hand and pushed it to his chest, allowing him to feel it to. Gerry looked up at him in shock, unable to believe what he was feeling. It was almost like Michael had become-

“Human,” Michael breathed, “Or at least nearer than I’ve been for a long time.”

“You’ve not gone back to your hallway in weeks, Michael.” Gerry suggested.

“Or maybe it’s spending too much time with you,” Michael pulled Gerry back into a hug.

Gerry laughed, “My effect on people could be called many things but I don’t think ‘humanising’ is among them.” He reached behind Michael to comb his fingers slowly through the long blonde locks. His hair was smoother than before, no longer filled with static. Touching Michael like this now, after so long of how he had become, felt strangely quiet; almost ominous. But Gerry was finally able to touch his boyfriend without getting a migraine, so he wasn’t about to start complaining.

A dull pain began to slowly throb at the back of Gerry’s head, maybe the migraines weren’t gone after all. He pulled away to massage his temples while Michael rubbed lightly at his back.

“Are you alright? Do you want to lie back down?” Michael asked.

“Mmf,” Gerry responded, lowering himself back onto the pillows. Michael was about to get under the covers with him when he heard the phone ring in the next room. He kissed Gerry on the forehead before heading out to see who was calling. He picked up the phone.

“Michael,” Michael said as he answered.

“Yes,” Elias’ voice came through the speaker, “I was wondering when Gerard was going to give me an answer to my proposal.”

“When he feels like it,” Michael snapped, crisply.

“He’d better hurry,” Michael could _hear_ the smirk on Elias’ lips, “Or he won’t be feeling anything.”

The phone went dead, leaving Michael to roll his eyes. He walked back to the bedroom to see that Gerry had already fallen – truthfully – asleep. He smiled and climbed into the bed next to him, clutching him tightly.

“I love you, Gerry,” he hummed into Gerry’s hair. He lay like that for a while, nearly falling into sleep himself when he realised how still Gerry was. He carefully pushed a hand forward onto Gerry’s chest to feel that there was no rise or fall of breathing.

“Gerry?” he started, rolling him onto his back, “Gerry, can you hear me?” But Gerry didn’t stir. The phone started to trill again, so Michael ran to answer it.

“Elias? What the fuck did you do?” his voice shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I lied about fixing the angst sorry slkfjslfsdlfjl


	17. Chapter 17

Jon broke several speeding laws on his way to Gerry and Michael’s apartment, but was determined not to think about it until later. He barely waited for the car to break fully before pulling on the hand-break and rushing up the stairs to the flat. The door was unlocked, so Jon let himself in. He had called Michael to follow up a statement he’d been working on but instead was greeted by Michael’s screams.

“Michael?” he called out.

“In the bedroom!” Michael’s out of breath voice came. Jon rushed around the corner and into the room. Gerry had been laid flat on the floor with Michael hunched over him. He was performing CPR and must have been doing so since he called Jon 20 minutes ago. Jon was tempted to focus on the fact that Michael was shaking – not his inhuman vibrating; real, human, shaking with pain – but instead pushed him aside so he could rest.

Michael crawled to the side of the bed and curled his legs up to his chest. He rocked back and forth, sobbing and fatigued as Jon continued CPR. After a few repetitions of checking his heart and breathing, Jon could hear faint thumping in Gerry’s chest. He sighed in relief but continued, his arms aching. After what seemed like hours, Gerry’s eyes slowly fluttered open. He couldn’t quite see Jon or Michael, but he Knew that they were there. Jon leaned close to his ear, Understanding in his eyes.

“Gerry,” he began, “can you hear them? Can you hear the tape recorders?” Gerry couldn’t move to nod his head, but he grunted an affirmative. Jon put a hand on his shoulder and breathed, calming himself but acting before he could change his mind. He leaned even closer and whispered so that Michael could not hear what he said. Gerry grunted again and raised a hand towards where Michael still sat. Michael crawled forward and took Gerry’s hand, his thumb gently stroking Gerry’s.

With what seemed to Michael to be without warning, Gerry’s back arched painfully upwards. His face contorted in pain and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His grip on Michael’s hand grew tighter and tighter until Michael was sure it would bruise. He didn’t care.

“Is he-?” he couldn’t think of what he was even trying to ask.

“He’ll be fine if he can get through this,” Jon replied, his eyes still locked on Gerry. Gerry writhed and his head shook violently from side to side like there was something on him he was desperately trying to shake off. When it looked like his pain was reaching an apex, his mouth finally opened. The scream that reverberated from Gerry’s mouth was so loud and bloodcurdling Jon thought it was a miracle it didn’t shatter any of the windows.

As the scream died, shorter shrieks of pain pulled themselves out of Gerry’s chest. Each was punctuated by a violent spasm which ricocheted up his body. Gerry’s mouth was blue, and his skin was turning deathly white. Jon tried to reach over and inspect Gerry’s eyes, but he couldn’t hold him down enough to do it safely. Tension built up in Gerry’s upper back; his shoulders hunched backward, and his stomach curled up. Finally, he screamed again.

It was a scream without end. Gerry seemed frozen like that; his body contorted but finally still. Michael quickly realised how Gerry could still be holding that scream. He no longer needed to breathe. As the scream continued, Gerry’s eyes eventually opened, apparently shocked to find that he hadn’t passed out from the pain yet. His eyes shot to Michael, who crowded in closer.

“I’m here, Gerry,” he said, stroking his free hand over Gerry’s forehead. Gerry closed his eyes again at the contact and slowly released the tension from his body. He slumped downwards, his scream fading to a dull rasping sound. He still didn’t lose consciousness, instead pulling on Michael’s hand until he was curled snugly against his chest. Gerry felt like he should be panting, but there was no pain in his chest that called for him to suck in air.

Jon shifted awkwardly behind them but made no move to leave. He knew what it was like for this kind of thing to come on slowly; a dull ache that was so small you learned to ignore it, even as the pain would grow. Like cooking on low heat. Jon didn’t even know that anything was wrong until he was already burning. He could only imagine what it must have been for Gerry; what it will continue to be. The pan had already been warmed for him so long that the oil had burned.

“Jon,” Gerry’s voice rasped.

“Yes?” Jon responded.

“Mm hungry,” he mumbled. Jon’s heart sank. He Knew exactly what Gerry was talking about but there was no way he could to the Institute to find him a statement and make it back in time. His transformation wasn’t complete, and he was so fragile right now. Jon shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Gerry now had his arms around Michael’s waist, his faced pressed into his chest and his legs curled in as tightly as he could. Michael idly stroke his fingers through Gerry’s hair, still struggling to understand the gravity of what was happening.

“Gerry, I-” Jon hesitated. “I’m going to feed you, and even though it’s what you need, you aren’t going to like how it feels. You’re going to see memories that aren’t your own, you’re going to _feel_ things that you don’t understand.” Gerry’s head shifted out from its position, but he only barely made eye contact with Jon. He grunted and Michael nodded for Jon to go ahead. A tape recorder clicked on.

“The Eye – Beholding – was not the first power that I encountered in my life. The first was the Spider. The Web. And I have no idea what that might mean. I was eight years old when my grandmother gave me the book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i write this chapter (and the next) in the middle of a breakdown? sdjfksdfkl maybe


	18. Chapter 18

Jon had never really given his Statement before. Not like this. He supposes that the strange talk Elias had roped him into after promoting him to Head Archivist might have counted, but he wasn’t sure exactly if that was even how Elias fed. He knew it would hurt to give Gerry his statement. Gerry was practically a newborn again; starving and in pain and surrounded by things he couldn’t bring himself to understand. But Jon also knew what it was to feel that hunger, and he wouldn’t wish that feeling upon anyone.

So he gave Gerry the most potent statement he could think of. His childhood encounter with a Leitner, and the first time he saw someone taken by an entity. As he spoke, Gerry’s posture straightened. Rather than being hunched in a ball in Michael’s lap, his back unfurled and his head turned to face Jon. Once he had shifted enough that Jon could see Gerry’s face, he saw the expression it wore. His eyes were wide and focused – apparently unaware of anything else other than Jon’s words – and his mouth was slightly parted. He almost looked like he was breathing but Jon realised that he was actually swaying ever so slightly.

“For a second,” said Jon, “there was almost the start of a scream, but the legs wrapped around him too quickly, and he disappeared into the doorway and out of sight.” He paused, the memory of it flashing behind his and Gerry’s eyes. “It slammed behind him, and he was gone, taking the book with him.”

As Jon finished, he took a few breaths to steady himself. Gerry was still sat stock-still in front of him, eyes wide, drinking it all in. Michael’s eyes had occasionally flitted to watch Jon as he gave his statement, but now he was trained totally on Gerry. Michael looked just as fragile as Gerry – though he had stopped shaking, his eyes were also no longer spinning, it no longer hurt to look at him – he looked far more human.

It wasn’t that Gerry had physically changed in appearance with this transformation, but there was something unsettling in his eyes; something like fire. His expression had changed from one of humour and sincerity to one of confusion and hunger. It appeared, however, that his hunger had been sated for the moment. He rose to his feet without ceremony and turned to lower himself onto the bed. Michael looked dumbfounded as he watched.

“We should leave him to rest,” said Jon, reaching a hand to rest on Michael’s shoulder. “But I’d like to stay the night? Only to keep an eye on him- ah,” he tripped over himself at his poor choice of words, ushering Michael back into the main room and shutting the bedroom door behind them, “sorry, but he really shouldn’t be left alone right now. His body, his mind, they’ll be changing, and he’ll need support.”

“Support I can’t give him,” Michael said, deadpan.

“Support that you can’t give him _alone_ ,” Jon clarified. “You know better than me what it’s like to go through a transformation quickly, but you don’t know what that means for an avatar of Beholding. Gerry will be much better off if we work together in this.”

“Will he eat statements now?” Michael asked as they sat down on the couch together.

“Most likely,” Jon replied, “he took mine, though he may need to feed off of something else too. I’m not exactly an expert in this; Elias is the only other avatar of Beholding that I know of and even though I Know he takes statements, I’m not sure if it’s actually what feeds him.”

“He’ll still be Gerry?”

“As far as I can tell. I don’t think I’ve changed much, or at least I don’t think that becoming an avatar is what has changed me. I admit I don’t know Gerry as well as I should. I know he was close with Gertrude, but he never really felt the need to transfer those loyalties to me.”

“He wasn’t close with Gertrude.” Michael said, matter-of-factly. “She lied to him. She told him she was close with his father and that she wanted to take care of him. She used him like she used everyone around her. Elias would say how she might as well have been an avatar of the Hunt but in truth she would’ve belonged better to the Desolation with all that she took and destroyed.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon replied awkwardly, “I’m afraid all that I know of Gertrude is the mess she left the Archives in. And, well-”

“That she died,”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t miss out on much. I worked with her for years before her death and barely heard from or saw her except for the occasional order to follow up on a statement. I used to think it was because she was busy or couldn’t remember our names. Take my advice: don’t be like her.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. Do you- do you know why Gerry didn’t want to work with me like he did with Gertrude?”

“I think he lost his trust in Archivists after what she did with me. Besides, she was the last reminder of his mother.” Michael shut his mouth quickly after mentioning Mary, realising he may have overstepped. It had been so long since he had been able to speak truths one after another. He wasn’t sure if he’d been an oversharer before, but whatever he was becoming now, it clearly wasn’t reserved.

“Fair enough, I never met Mary either but from how everyone talks about her she seems like-”

“A lot?” Michael ventured.

“I was going to say a bad mother, but that works too.” They laughed together at that.

“It’s late,” Michael commented, turning to look at the clock on the wall, “but there’s a 24-hour sushi place we could order from?”

Jon nodded and followed Michael to the kitchen to help set out bowls and cutlery. Michael’s hand shook slightly as he picked up the phone, so Jon reached to put his own hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“He’ll be alright, Michael,” he said. “He’ll be alright.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a warning for anyone who might have emetophobia for this chapter. There is no graphic description but there are a lot of references to feeling sick and one brief description of a character vomiting towards the end of the chapter

Tim’s stomach was pulling him roughly south-east. He figured that was the direction of the Institute; he was being tugged on the end of a long line and every time he resisted the hook dug a little bit deeper. He didn’t exactly feel ill, but he could no longer remember what it felt like to feel _well_.

He hadn’t been able to find any real remnants of the Circus at the opera house, but he knew better than to expect them to still be there. He had, however, found what he _was_ looking for. He found their scent. Blood pumped through his temples and made the back of his eyes run hot. He wasn’t quite sure where exactly he was, but he knew that he had to be getting close soon.

He was running almost directly against the pull in his stomach now and it was beginning to feel like his very insides were going to be pulled out if he didn’t relent. He wouldn’t relent. Not yet. He kept running, the sickly-sweet scent of the Circus leading him down a dark alleyway to what looked like an art gallery of some kind. If he was of any mind to notice, he would’ve seen a short woman crawling along the wall of the alley he was in.

“Wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” she said behind him. He turned and responded with a surprised grunt that came out sounding more like a growl. The woman put her hand out towards him, stopping him from approaching. “Look, that thing is packed right now. You don’t stand a chance. Wait a few hours, most will leave and then you’ll have the big one to yourself.”

“The big one?” Tim asked.

“The big doll. You know, polka dot clothes, ruffled collar, red eye paint? The others like to crowd around it.”

Tim sighed heavily, “Yeah, yeah I know the one.”

“Well, if you want to take that one down, you’ll need to wait.”

“Aren’t you here to get it?” Tim crooked an eyebrow.

“Not particularly,” the woman said slowly, “I’ve just been waiting for one or two to leave by themselves then pick them off when they do.”

“You don’t happen to know how many are left in there, do you?”

“Should only be four or five apart from the big one,”

Tim nodded to her and walked to join her in the dark outcrop that she crouched in. They didn’t speak except for the woman pointing out where the ‘people’ would exit from and how many she’d taken down already. Six by her count.

It must have been almost an hour since her last stray comment when a doll exited through the main door. It wasn’t tall exactly, but it’s skin seemed to be stretched out, like a water-balloon full to bursting. It walked in long strides, like it was on stilts, but its legs were actually the most normal looking part of its body. It stumbled down the few steps in front of the door and into the dull yellow of the single street-light.

That was when she pounced.

The woman sprang from where she stood and tackled the doll out of the light. When she broke her on landing on top of the doll, Tim could hear the sound of smashed porcelain against the pavement and watched as a piece of the doll’s shining skin skidded across to him. Tim picked up the piece, suddenly transfixed. From the struggling silhouette under the woman’s body he could see that the side of the doll’s head had been smashed. He was holding a piece of it’s cracked cheek.

He turned the piece in his hands and noted a collection of freckles in an odd formation standing out. Tim’s stomach dropped as heard the doll call out for help. He ran towards the woman and pushed her off the doll. The light that made its way into the darkness shone into the cracked hole in the doll’s face, illuminating it and casting jagged shadows.

“What?!” the woman snarled at him. Tim bared his teeth at her in warning before turning back to the doll and kneeling next to it.

“Rosie?” he ventured. The doll’s left eye and what was left of its right turned suddenly to stare at Tim. It’s mouth opened but nothing more than a recognisable gasp escaped from it. Tim couldn’t help it; he turned away and finally let the nausea pulling him towards the institute release itself from his stomach.

He turned back to the woman and nodded darkly at her as he pulled himself from the pavement. She raised an already bruised and scarred fist before bringing it down on the doll’s stomach so that it’s head jerked upwards. She then took its face in her free hand and smashed it to the ground until there was nothing but a pile of chipped porcelain and dust.

“That institute,” Tim muttered, “that _fucking_ institute. Even when it’s not making monsters of its own domain its pushing everyone else; me, Michael,” he paused, “Rosie,”

“What are you gonna do?” the woman asked.

“I’m gonna burn that fucking place to the ground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a shorter chapter (and a bit late too) ive been going through it and im bad at writing tim so this chapter was a bit tougher to write lsdkfjsdk
> 
> also hi yes the woman is daisy that is all


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for talking about fatigue based illnesses and medication (all based on my own experiences because aha projecting onto Gerry go brrr)

When Gerry awoke his head was pounding. He felt his legs shake as he lowered them off the edge of the bed and took a few stiff steps towards the bedroom door. His cane was leaning against the door frame, so he threw himself toward it. He could hear soft voices on the other side of the door but couldn’t tell if they were hushed for his benefit or simply because there was something wrong with his hearing.

He hadn’t felt this bad in years. It wasn’t like his usual fatigue, or like the withdrawal he’d feel after missing a dose of his meds; he felt empty, like his consciousness was barely his own, like it was something he had to fight for. Even moving his hand to grab the door handle was tiring. He turned it with as much effort as he could and pulled it open.

Michael and Jon were sitting on the three-seater couch together. There were open containers sitting on the table in front of them, but the food looked untouched for the most part. That was strange. Why was Jon here? Michael looked different, insomuch as he looked how he used to. His hair was no longer curling of its own accord up and down his back, his fingers did not change length, his voice did not hurt to hear. Gerry could hear him speaking to Jon, but he couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.

All he knew was that he needed to hear what was being said. He stumbled closer, his feet barely carrying any of his weight. He must’ve made a noise because now Michael and Jon were looking at him. Michael crept up to him slowly, his knees bent, and his hand held out as if he were approaching an animal. It took Gerry a moment to realise that Michael was saying his name.

“Gerry?” he cooed gently. Gerry stumbled towards him, unblinkingly staring. He almost tripped over his cane when he was finally close enough to lunge forward and cling to the front of Michael’s shirt. If Michael were a smaller man, he might have been knocked over by this, but instead he wrapped his arms around Gerry’s back and sank to the floor. He let the smaller man melt into him and held him tight.

“He’s shaking,” Gerry said to Jon, who was still sat on the nearby couch, watching intensely.

“He needs to feed,” Jon replied, “statements.”

“I don’t think he wants to feed off others,” Michael was slowly running his hands through Gerry’s hair, trying to sooth him as he wept quiet tears of confusion into Michael’s chest.

“No, I understand that.” Jon ruffled his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I could try and get him some statements from the Institute, but considering the Gerry didn’t take Elias’ deal, we’ll have to be careful.”

As if on cue, (or perhaps, intentionally on cue) Jon’s phone began to ring. He recognised the number as one of the Institute phones. He looked warily towards Michael and put his finger on his lips to warn him to be quiet as he answered the call.

“Jonathan Sims,” he said. Michael could only hear a faint muffled voice coming from Jon’s phone. Jon’s face dropped as he dropped the phone from his ear to his lap and pushed the speakerphone option.

“Very good, thank you, Jon,” Elias’ voice rang from the speaker, “Gerard? Can you hear me?”

Gerry pushed himself away from Michael’s chest slightly and let his head loll backwards to face Jon. His eyes were half closed but never fully blinked, his mouth hung open loosely.

“Wonderful,” Elias’ smirk was audible, “Now I admit, I am a little offended that you chose not to take me up on my offer. However, now that it seems you once again require my assistance I am happy to make you the same offer once again. You need something from me: statements, unless you do want to truly become a ‘monster’ and feed on people’s live fears. And I would like you to stop acting like a child and take up your rightful place at the institute. Do so, and I will give you your statements.”

“He doesn’t-” Michael began.

“I think I would like to hear Mr Keay’s answer, Michael,” Elias interrupted.

Gerry licked his lips and tried to speak but nothing more than a rasp escaped. He groaned and fell back into Michael who held him protectively.

“Well, that doesn’t sound very promising,” Elias sneered, “You two had better get him to the institute soon if you want him to live.”

“Elias, that’s enough,” Jon warned.

“Jon, us servants of beholding are proponents of truth, not comfort. You and Mr Keay would do well to learn that sooner than later.”

“Gerry will learn what he needs to without your help Elias, it’s not like you’ve told me that many truths.”

“I’ll do it,” Gerry’s voice almost squeaked as it clawed its way out of his throat. Michael held Gerry tighter, not wanting to face what he said or what it would mean. He looked to Jon; his eyes distraught. Jon hung up the phone before Elias could respond to Gerry’s acceptance. He shifted from the couch to sit on the ground next to Gerry and Michael.

“If you do this,” Jon said slowly, “you’ll never be able to leave.”

“I know,” Gerry responded.

“Gerry, no one hates the Institute or Elias more than you, why would you even consider-”

“I have my reasons.” Gerry said plainly, clutching Michael ever tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I didn’t update last week, ive been having a bit of a rough time lately with uni and health shenanigans and for some reason this chapter was like puling teeth. Should be back to a normal upload schedule from now on (fingers crossed)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back at uni now, so updates will be a bit slower. I'm hoping to still upload at least once a week


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